


The Butterfly Effect

by SmallStars



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1700/1800, Aaron Burr being Burr, An attempt at smut™, But also, Canon-Typical Violence, Charles Lee Being a Dick, Fluff, Lams-centric, Love, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Poetry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Starry nights, Universe adds a touch of gay™, Violence, War, historical period, its very gay, they just love each other very much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallStars/pseuds/SmallStars
Summary: Something was telling him, like a gentle whisper; this is a monumental moment. When Alex walked away from the Schuyler sisters that night, and turned to John, it was as if the stars had re-written themselves. It was as if the Universe sought a change, a certain deliberation that ended with 'no, this is what happens, this time'.During the heat of the American Revolution, Alexander and John are in love.





	1. A Lack Of Colour

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter belonged to a prompt I was sent many moons ago, and has since been used as the starting point of, well, the story you are (hopefully!) about to read.
> 
> As such, this first chapter is a little under-developed. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!

_If you feel discouraged_  
_When there's a lack of colour here_  
_Please don't worry lover_  
_It's really bursting at the seams_

 

John drifted in and out of sleep. Dreams came and went like passing tides, sometimes merging into one another and, at other times, ending so abruptly that he jolted back to reality. This would happen, sometimes. Sometimes the monstrosities of war; the ear-crackling _booms,_ the heart-wrenching scents and the soul-draining cries, became too much to bear. Sleep had always been an adequate form of escape, a suitable type of rest, but now even that had been taken from him.

He ran a hand through his mess and mass of hair. He had to remind himself to _breathe, just breathe,_ before he could even attempt opening his tent. To get out, to get some fresh air, to _forget._

But, even then, his fingers trembled against his will.

After many attempts, he finally felt the bite of cold air. The sensation of it scratching past his skin cleared his mind. He breathed; allowed the icy fangs to claw their way down his throat. But then he caught something; an intruding warmth, a sickly scent of burning wood. He paused, and turned in its direction.

Someone was already up.

Someone was there, prodding the ashes of a blazing fire as if to diminish the fresh, freezing air.

The time it took for John Laurens to recognize that smooth olive-skin, those raven curls and that lanky frame was enough time for the memories to return. It was enough for him to hear distant screams, distant cackles and _bang!_

He felt himself falling. Felt the discarded leaves beneath him, the very earth, slide and twist beneath his feet. He felt himself decline, further and further into the battlefield; into the world of the dead, dead, dead bodies, staring at him with unseeing eyes, calling to him with unspoken voices and longing for him with an unforgiving grip—

“Laurens!”

He came back to reality with a flinch.

Alex was there, staring at him. His eyes, dark and wholesome and knowing, became an anchor. Laurens openly stared at them; bore into them, so as to keep himself grounded.

“John, are you with me?” Alex spoke in a hushed tone. His hand ghosted over John’s shoulder, before returning to his side. “Your eyes seemed to be distant.”

He scrunched his face up to try and battle the looming headache. “Oh, Alex…” He trailed, swaying slightly. “My apologies. I…I sometimes, I…”

Laurens may have lost his words, but Alex’s were always steadfast on his tongue.

“I understand. You do not need to explain what is so clearly expressed by your emotions. Come by the fire—it will be warmer there.”

John shook his head, an action he soon regretted after his brain became wracked with throbs. “N-No, Alexander. The cold helps me to think.”

“Very well. We shall sit here, then?”

Laurens was taken aback. “You want to sit with _me?”_

The follow-up to that question was left unsaid, but it hung clearly in the air; _me, the soldier who is deemed brave and yet cannot face sleep for fear of nightmares; me, the soldier who hath none but oneself; me, the soldier, who is sinful enough to love you._

“Of course, my dear Laurens. You seem troubled, and yet are my friend; so I shall remain with you.” Alexander paused. “We will sit here?”

“Somewhere away from the tent. It plagues my mind with unhappy thoughts.”

“Very well!” Alexander beamed, and when he did, his eyes seemed alight with the very stars they reflected. He reached forward and took John’s wrist, turning and dragging him somewhere within the forest.

John Laurens was too tired and too infatuated to say no. He was too trustful, too, it seemed; so he followed this man, this glorious and respectful and wonderful person, into the looming darkness of the trees. The moon and the dancing stars above provided minimal lighting. But, Alexander seemed to know the way, paving his way through the trees and the roots almost elegantly.

Eventually, they reached a lone lake.

Alexander collapsed by its edge, gazing up at his friend with a grin which could only be described as smug.

“Does this suit your fancy?” Alexander said, a little louder now that they were free of prying ears.

“It is quite possibly the most remarkable landscape I have seen.” He agreed, and sat down beside Alexander. He stared into the water, ignoring his reflection and instead choosing to note the constellations; marvel at the diamonds above, enveloped by darkness; memorize the patterns, the swirls, of the moon.

He did not see Alexander, who was too busy studying him. “Yes, but, my dear Laurens, not more beautiful than the landscape that is yourself.”

He knew what Alex had said; and he knew that Alex knew what he has said. This was a man whose thoughts formed direct connections with his mouth; every word calculated and true. John hoped the darkness hid the growing redness of his cheeks. “Why do you flatter me so, Alexander?”

Alex chuckled. “It is just that I like to prove you wrong.”

John’s heart sunk a little further. _You could sink even further in the lake,_ his thoughts suggested. He shook his head again, as if to try and rid them, before his head went _throb_ and he gripped his temples.

“Oh, my dear John- whatever is it that troubles you? I did not mean for you to take offence, you should know that—“

“No, no, Alexander—just stop. It is not you. The horrors of the battlefield haunt me and the men I have watched die wish for me to join them. Reality is not enough of a wager to keep me here, I fear. I am scared. I am cold and alone, and—“

It was warm. Warm hands drew around his body and gentle arms kept him from tethering. A warm body, an alive and welcoming and soft body, pulled him close, and sweet nothings were whispered into his ear. They hushed him. The words almost sung to him like a lullaby. And so John allowed his eyes to close; allowed the waterfall that was his tears to flood the shoulder he now breathed into.

“I am alone, Alexander,” he wept. He did not care for the shame that preyed upon him, for the warm arms holding him kept it at bay. “I have none which want me but the dead, and yet I cannot die.”

“Shh,” Alex almost cradled him, rubbing soothing circles into his back with ease. “You are not alone. What must I do to prove you wrong? If not in words dear Laurens, then…” He gripped onto the shivering man in his arms. “I will never leave you, John, if you wager the same with me. You are not alone; I am here.”

His sobs diminished into sniffles. “Reality would be bearable, were you with me constantly.”

“Yours, forever,” Alexander promised, breaking apart for only a moment so that he might place a kiss upon John’s forehead. His fingers; elegant as they were, traced his cheeks so that the tears might be gone.

Something seemed to realise itself within John, and he flinched, daring to pull away. “Why can it not be; it’s damnable! You are a righteous man, Alexander. You cannot love me in the way that I might you.”

Alexander only gripped him firmer, chin placed over the taller man’s head. “Hush, I will prove you wrong, my dear Laurens. Love knows no bounds; not the depths of ones soul nor the amount of stars above can quantify it. I want you _here_.”

“How can you be so sure?” John asked, tears threatening to engulf him again.

“I hath loved, and will love, you for as long as I live.”

Alex _finally_ released the taller man—but only so that he could plant a gentle kiss to those soft lips, eyelids shadowing his wondrous eyes. John became tense, at first, but forced himself to relax. Of course he had wanted this for a time too long to measure; but the thought of kissing Alex was still one which made him feel a forced guilt.

But no longer.

They parted only when they needed air.

It was John this time that hugged the smaller frame, nuzzling into his neck so that he might absorb the loving warmth that belonged there.

Alexander smiled. “Yours, forever.”

And for the first time in many a year, John Lauren's began to believe it. Like a distant light in the darkness, he began to feel wanted. The screams became whispers, the wounds became scars and the world around him became, for once, invitingly warm.


	2. The Wisp Sings

_This is the murmur of the land_  
_This is the sound of love's marching band_  
_And how they hold you like a gun_  
_And how I sing you like a song_

 

They sat there together, beneath the moonlight and entangled in one another’s limbs, for what felt like an eternity. The silence was easy, and undisturbed apart from the occasional cricket, or swooping owl and the squeal of a faraway mouse. On occasions one of them might drift in and out of sleep, undisturbed by dreams and memories.

John liked this. So much so did he enjoy Alex’s company that a smile was plastered onto his lips like a painting; as though it finally, finally belonged there. And it felt like it did, too.

The steady rise and fall of one another’s chest was comforting to them both, but none more so than to Alex, who had found refuge in sitting on top of John Laurens. John Laurens, the wonderful, brave, powerful, intelligent man whom his heart ached, pined and longed for. John Laurens, who, the Universe willing, would be his.

His heart finally felt free from the cage he had spent years building around it.

“Alexander,” John’s voice started, and at first it felt so small he doubted said man had even heard him. “We will have to return, soon.”

Alexander hummed, the very essence of his being just content _with_ being. “No doubt we will.”

“They will wonder where we have been.” John said, running his fingers through Alex’s hair. He half expected Alex to flinch, to turn away, to call him repulsive and damned, and leave.

He was pleasantly surprised when Alexander leaned into his touch.

His hair was softer, smoother and silkier than any woman’s, John realised. Something about that thought made his stomach flip. “They may ask questions as to our whereabouts—“

“Let them wonder. Their thoughts and their words are but utterances; I shall keep prying and suspicious eyes at bay.”

“And if they were to find out…?”

Alexander did not like the way John’s heart hammered, longing to be free from his chest. Not when it was so heavy and rushed; not when this was brought on by unnecessary anxieties, instead of beating faster from his touch. Alex flipped himself over and propped himself up on an elbow, so that he was staring down at that artwork of a man. Freckles like constellations littered his face freely; his eyes were like the crashing waves of the sea and, oh, those lips! So flush and delightful, just as the man they belonged to was lush and wonderful.

“My dear Laurens,” he whispered, and smiled when said man shivered, “we will get through all tribulations together. When we are not attached physically,” and he met John’s lips deeply with his own, “we will be together spiritually,” and another kiss, “and emotionally,” and another.

“You are too good,” John murmured, leaning up to steal Alexander’s mouth again, who sighed contentedly through his nose.

They took their time. They were exploring one another in the most basic, but nonetheless the most appreciated of ways. John discovered very quickly that Alexander liked to have contact, almost constantly and near ruthlessly. When they parted for air, Alex’s mouth latched onto his neck, nipped at the sensitive skin just below his uniform and near his shoulder blades. The gasp elicited from the taller man’s mouth had an unexpected effect on Alexander; one which made his stomach curl and his chest feel lighter.

Alex found that John liked to use his hands continuously (not that he minded). They seemed to be everywhere; gripping onto his hair, sliding down his back and ghosting over his thighs. They became loose and hesitant the further down they travelled, but Alex did not mind. He did not wish to rush, to make one feel uncomfortable; neither of them did. This was new territory for them and so they tread carefully, tracing their steps everytime a new one was taken.

The melody of birdsong indicated that morning was near and, as if on cue, subtle rays of sunlight began to penetrate the trees and reflect on the surface of the lake.

They both seemed to deflate almost immediately, John laughing a little at the pout on Alexander’s lips. That laugh; it sparked something within Alexander that he knew would eventually set aflame to his heart.

“It is not humorous!” Alexander groaned, standing up and dusting off his trousers. “Come, my dear Laurens! We must return, unfortunately.” He held out his hand, which John took obligingly. Alexander did not, apparently, anticipate John to be so heavy, and so instead of pulling _John up_ Alex got pulled _down,_ and collapsed onto him in a heap of laughter.

“Ha! Alex, are you so attracted to me that you cannot keep yourself from me?” John teased, a smirk twirling onto his lips in a way that sent shivers down Alex’s spine.

“You are undoubtedly the most attractive person to hath walked the face of the earth! In the same way that two opposite poles are—“

He was cut off with a kiss, and a movement in gravity meant that both he and John were now on their feet.

“As much as I love your words, we must be getting back, lest we be here for the entire day!” He grinned, and actually held out his hand. Alexander took it without a second thought; John Laurens, this strong and powerful man wanted _him to take his hand._ Oh, how he has tainted this wonderful man! And yet, Alex could not even bring himself to care.

John continued, the teasing smirk still plastered there, “What will our army and our _country_ do without dear Alexander Hamilton?”

The smirk faltered a little, which Alex was quick to notice. He gripped onto John, walking with his body pressed into him firmly. He whispered, as if it were an intimate promise, “And what will Alexander Hamilton do without his John Laurens?”

John only hummed.

Before they re-entered the camp, they separated and wiped themselves down. They both pretended to ignore the hardness that remained between their thighs, and hoped that, should any soldiers be out, they would be able to ignore it, too.

“Alexander,” John whispered before they stepped beyond the tree line. “Will you still love me after today is over?”

“I will love you forever and forever,” Alex repeated. “Tonight, when all of the men are asleep, meet me here outside. If it rain, or snow, or is simply too terrible to be outside, wait for me and I shall come to your tent.”

Johns brows furrowed. “Why shouldn’t I come to yours?”

“Mine is next to the generals, Laurens.” He grinned, “I plan to love you tonight as I hath done before, only with more rigor, tentativeness, —“

“I do not like my tent, Alexander.” Flashes of the night before, of dead, of dead bodies and screams and guns, and explosions, and—

“Tsk, Laurens,” Alexander’s hand brushed past his, grounding him to the present. “Come to mine, then. We shall have to be silent.”

John nodded. He was about to lean down and allow his lips to brush past Alex’s, as if it were a natural, normal, habitual thing. But, he stopped- the familiar sound of pots clanging and heavy boots thudding reminded him of where they were, of reality, and his heart sunk again into the pit he had dug for it. So he walked into camp first, rearranging his trousers discreetly. He took a seat by the log fire, his cautious eyes flicking over the men’s faces. No suspicious glares nor glances were shot his way, but then a familiar set of brown orbs found his, and…oh, no…

“Lafayette!” John greeted, smiling a little too quickly and standing up a little too eagerly. He soon sat down again, half-crossing his legs.

Said man, with his hair as messy but as wonderful as tangled vines, and a smile as bright as the morning sun itself, came over to John with ease. He sat beside him, nudging him playfully in the shoulder.

“Good morning, mon ami!” Lafayette greeted, leaning forward and pouring John a cup of coffee. John took it eagerly, allowing the heat to warm up his hands, before tapping it against Laf’s own cup with a _clink._ “You were not in your tent this morning?”

“Oh—“ _Oh._ The whole world around him stopped spinning, and his bright eyes became shadowed. “Oh, uh—“ How did Alexander do this? Just think of an excuse, a _word,_ a normal phrase off the tip of his tongue? “I was, um—“  How was that wonderful man so skilled? _How? How? Why? Why must it be like this, why must my sins taint him so, how must I live—_

“Oh! More amis! John Laurens, look! Here comes Alexander, now.”

John snapped his head up, and caught the flash of a concerned smile from his- his- partner? Before it was gone, enveloped by the embrace of the taller Lafayette.

“Alexander, you were gone, too.” Laf noted, and handed him a warm cup. “Me and Herc noticed that the two of you were missing from your tents- I am glad to see you both are fine, of course.”

Alex responded immediately, the tension rising easily from John’s shoulders. “I was out for an early morning stroll, Laf. Many things look ever more beautiful when it is the morning.”

John didn’t have to see Alexander to feel him throw a lascivious wink. And then he realized; he was right. Alexander was _right._ They weren’t attached physically, but that didn’t matter; he could still feel him, all of his expressions and movements and quirks, in his thoughts. He smiled knowingly. “You did the same, Alexander?” John said, noticing the pride in his Alex’s eyes. “Ha! Let us hope you were not really there to stalk me.”

Lafayette laughed at that, a huge, hearty laugh that reverberated throughout the entirety of the camp. No doubt _all_ the men were up, now.

“Well!” Lafayette clapped his hands, always the spirited member of camp. “I shall meet you by the breakfast, mon amis. I hear we actually have- how you call it?- _sausegees,_ the small pig wrapped in skin. Herc says tis good.”

John said his goodbyes whilst Alex promised to join him shortly. Alex sat down beside John, content to share the air with silence. Their feet almost touched, which did nothing to alleviate either of the stiffening sensation between their thighs, but what else could they do? They were as attracted to one another as opposite ends of a magnet were bound to one another; as equal as the sun and moon.

“I presume that we are not going to mention the,” Johns accent changed, “ ‘ _small pig wrapped in skin’_ “

Alexander burst out in laughter, the edges of his eyes crinkling in delight. “Your interpretation is more worthy of mention! Ha!” He laughed again, gripping his stomach. “I dare say we will hear more of it over breakfast. ‘ _Sausegees’_ sounds delightful.”

Johns voice dropped slightly. “As do you, when you smile.”

Alexander hummed, and opened his mouth with a quirk as if to say some other witty remark, but was interrupted by someone approaching. The heavy _thud, thud_ of iron-clad boots did not go amiss.

“Hamilton,” General Washington called, before noticing John. “Oh! Good morning, Mr Laurens. Glad to see that you are well.” He turned back to Alex, who seemed to become almost bolder below the general’s stare. “Might you come into my tent for a moment? I have some issues that need discussing and plans that need reviewing.”

John’s tongue escaped him, “He has yet to even eat breakfast, General.”

George Washington seemed to regard him with a strange eye, narrowing his knowing-gaze, before nodding. “Of course. My apologies- after breakfast, then?”

“Of course, sir,” Alex said. The general went to take his leave back in the direction of his tent, but not before glancing to Laurens once more.

Alexander stood up, his head in direction of the wooden dining tables which were off in the distance. The mouth-watering smell almost distracted him for a moment. “John, why must you mother me?”

John only laughed and stood, making for the tantalizing scent of fried foods. “I care for you, Alexander. As I have always done. I know of your habit to ‘forget’ food.”

“Wait,” Alex said, and went to reach out to grab John’s hand. The taller man only flinched and shied away, shaking his head with concern. “Oh, wait—John, I’m sorry. I did not mean—“

“What is that you wanted?”

Alex’s smile became sheepish. “Before breakfast, shouldn’t we, uh—“ He glanced down, from the middle of his thighs to Johns, and his expressive face became almost helpless. “There are many people there. I am uncomfortable as it is.”

John caught on to what he was saying, and swallowed. “What might you mean by _we?”_

Alex gasped. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable! I only meant that, since we _both_ have this problem…”

“If I leave to my tent and you to yours, I shall meet you back here?”

“Precisely!” Alex chimed, relived.

And so they left to their respective tents. It wasn’t lack of love that kept them apart in such a way; it was fear. Fear of moving too quickly, into uncharted territory and scaring one another away. It was fear of being caught, exposed, and of having this over all too quickly. It was fear that kept them physically distant.

But emotionally, they were together. For a few minutes when they were apart, nothing but each other encaptivated one another’s thoughts. John thought of Alex, of his body, of his lips and his mouth—and Alex, too, thought of John, of his hands and his subtle movements and gasps.

After they had changed into cleaner clothes and were thoroughly satisfied, they met back outside by the fire.

As they walked towards breakfast together, there were soft murmurings between the two, hushed giggles and comfortable glances. In their minds, they walked hand on hand, arm in arm, together.


	3. Thoughts

_Thoughts, are creeping in with arms of silence_   
_Time, have made me drown here on my island_   
_Pressure's rising like a way of open scars_

As was the norm, the dining area was full with people. After learning that this camp had managed to get some _‘small pig wrapped in skin’,_ some men had even trekked from other camps, over miles of terrain, just to receive some real meat for once.

The four friends all sat together once they had collected a mountain of food. As was the norm, lewd jokes and hearty laughter were shared amongst them. It was here, no doubt, that the four men felt most at home. It was here that they felt safe, and here where they could truly forget the horrors that awaited them.

“So,” Hercules mused with a mouthful of bread, “Lafayette here informs me that you two were absent this morning?”

“I went for a stroll and, I believe, Alexander here had pursued me!”

“Oh, you wound me,” Alexander chuckled, and theatrically clutched his chest. “I, too, was out for a walk. And despite the circumstance, there really are some marvelous views around here! Lovely enough to allow me to relax.”

“Of course,” Lafayette said, “even Alexander’s mind must rest sometimes, non?”

“Well, even then,” Alexander said, chewing on a potato, “my mind is still wracked with thoughts of work, of writing, of—“ He paused, not allowing his tongue to get away from himself. He knew what he would have said, eventually. He was just, so…happy. Giddy. Joyous. He wanted the world to know of this new profound love he had discovered, and yet, he also didn’t. It was confusing, to say the least.

“Of?” Hercules prompted.

“Of food! I must write to congress and ask for a greater stock of food! Whilst _‘small pigs wrapped in skin’,_ are good, my stomach still growls for—“

The attempt at a French accent and the mockery of dear Lafayette caused them all to spurt up in laughter, the Frenchman pretending to take offence but not being able to suppress his charming grin.

“I will not open these lips from henceforth ! Non!” Lafayette announced, pressing his lips together and running a finger across them.

“Oh come on, Laf,” Herc stabbed a sausage with a fork and waved it about in his friends face, “what, not even to eat one of these, how you say? _sau—“_

Lafayette grumbled something in French before snatching the sausage from the fork, and, though he might have struggled, eating it near on whole.

This only caused more bouts of laughter from the four men, the air around them seeming to lighten and become brighter with each passing second.

 

Whilst Alexander returned to Washington’s tent, a stack of papers and quill in hand, Laurens invariably remained outside. Whilst he and his friends were not due to be stationed anytime soon, he could not shake the feeling of uncertainty. First, it was the effect of war. Every loud sound and sudden movement had him fighting the urge to flinch. And secondly it was, well…every suspicious glance and gossiped word made his temper boil furiously. He was so conflicted between wanting to be angry, and feeling ashamed; he could not find the right mix between the two.

He was heating himself another cup over the fire, staring almost abysmally into the flames and their merging shades of reds, and browns and yellows. He was so lost in the flickering embers that he did not hear someone call his name; so gone was he that he almost did not feel the grip on his shoulder.

“Laurens,” It was Lafayette. John didn’t look up, though—he just recognised the voice. “You are not well?”

This made him frown. “I am well enough,” he retorted, and stood his feet abruptly.

The Frenchman raised an eyebrow and stood back, raising his hands defensively. “I am sorry to startle you. We are both to set off and deliver a letter of notice to the camp that lies twenty-five miles South East. They need to send help to the front lines, for support.”

“We are not messengers, Laf.” John said, feeling a little offended.

“ _Our_ messengers are both injured from a duel. Plus,” Lafayette took a swig from his flask, “you seem distracted, non? Perhaps some fresh air will do you good. Come, Herc has our horses ready.”

“Is Hercules joining us, then?”

“If he wishes.”


	4. Heal

_Take a heart_  
_And take a hand_  
_Like an ocean takes the dirty sand_  
_And heal, heal_

 

As it so turned out, Hercules _did_ wish to join them. They weren’t going to be working very much for the next few days at least, and so every man had been itching to get out and do _something._ For our three friends, that something was travelling at high speeds on horseback, the wind passing past them at such a speed it dared to carry away the fears of what lay ahead, in the days to come.

As was the norm, the three of them were not without mullets and swords. Whilst the alarm hadn’t been sounded, there was every possibility that the British had breached the front lines and were advancing from the South. This was always a possibility—just a possibility, but one which kept many men awake at night.

They had slowed to a pleasurable canter, when John pulled up a little closer to Lafayette.

“I must apologise.” He said, having to bring up his voice so that he might be heard over the roaring of the wind, over the _thud thud, thud_ of the horses below them.

“Non,” Lafayette frowned. “We all have difficulties, mon ami.”

“I responded rashly,” John continued nonetheless. “I am not a hostile man towards my friends, Laf.”

“I know.” Lafayette agreed. “You are troubled?”

John Laurens, the brave, admirable, strong soldier had built up a cage around his ‘troubles’. This cage held so much depth to it; so much so, that even if he found the key, he would still not find his pains. And pained, he was. There were sometimes small cracks in this cage, this façade, that allowed his emotion and his fear and his worry to seep through—and, try as he might, he was unable to bandage such crevices back together.

At long last, John sighed. “I am. I am very…troubled.”

There was a silence that existed between the three men, then. One which wasn’t comfortable nor the opposite; one which was understood, a silent agreement between them.

It was Hercules who spoke next, “Why?”

John shook his head a little. “We have been out on the field for what seems like an eternity. Back and forth from the front lines; back and forth from almost imminent death.” The heartbeat thundering in his chest came to mimic the thudding of the hooves beneath him. “I _hate_ waiting. It gives my mind time to think.”

“Oh, mon ami…” Lafayette murmured. “You appear so brave on the battlefield, and yet you hide all of this behind your demeanor?”

John nodded.

“I feel the same,” Mulligan’s deep voice, barely soothing now as it once would have been, came from beside them. “I do not know what I expected of war. I know I did not expect it to keep me from sleep.”

This was true, for all of them. One did not have to study their faces for long to notice the purple, near-reddening bags that hung from beneath their eyes; the light that was lost from their pupils.

“Why did we ever…” John began, but trailed. He didn’t know nor care if his voice was even heard.

“Because,” Lafayette began, and seemed to rise almost in the saddle, “we are together, mon amis! We are bound to make a difference. And we shall. Together, oui?”

The memories to flash before John’s eyes were, for once, not ones of grief or guilt or sadness or pain. Rather, they were filled with joy, and a certain degree of nostalgia. He was reminded of a bar, somewhere, that reeked of old cider and damp walls, and with which the very air was stuffy with dust. And of laughter, drunken squabbles and, oh, he would never forget—the very first time he had set his appreciations upon those beautiful, wonderful eyes.

A promise was made between the four men that night.

              _‘I may not live to see our glory, but I will gladly join the fight’_

And so, he _would_ gladly join the fight. Besides his friends, into the battle, to build the struts of what would one day be called a glorious act. To build something that would outlive them all.

John realised that Lafayette and Mulligan were still staring him expectantly for a response. He blinked once or twice, before grinning wildly. “Together,” he agreed.


	5. High Hopes

_And in my dreams i meet the ghost of all the people of come and gone_  
_Memories that seems to show up so quick when they leave you far too soon_  
_My evil, is just staring at the barrel of a gun_  
_And i do believe it_

Alexander was scribbling something down furiously onto parchment, his back arched over a desk in Washington’s tent. Beside him was a stack of paper, gradually becoming taller with each passing hour.

“Also,” George spoke up, and was acknowledged only with a glance. “We will be needing two more messengers here. I would suggest we could train the soldiers, but we are in such little supply as it already is.”

“Quite,” Alexander mumbled, pulling out a spare parchment and noting something brief. “Perhaps the main reason we keep losing so many men isn’t to war so much as it to duels.”

George Washington wasn’t sure if this was a joke, or a sarcastic comment, so he only regarded him with a confused look. “We need more men trained in the act of _giving_ acts. Majors, Lieutenants. This would surely help the confused and outright disordered movements of some of our soldiers in the South.”

“I am writing and allocating promotions as you wish, and what feels like constantly. Soon they will have no soldiers to command but each other, and that certainly wouldn’t do. Sir.”

“I have a proposal which may save the Southernmost line of defense, if we act fast.” George pulled out a map and lay it across the desk, barely giving Alexander enough time to clear it of his writings.

Below was a map of all the camps, the barracks, the sentry outlines, lines of defense and scouting routes; Alexander knew it well. George pointed to a specific key on the map, and traced his finger across the stained parchment.

“The soldiers from the Southern Eastern camp are being sent to aid in the Southern fight, as we speak. But this means that we will only need more soldiers to re-occupy the Eastern command. Which we do not currently have.”

“I will write to congress?” Alex suggested, frowning in thought. “Ask them to recruit more men.”

“Yes, but that will take time. Time, we do not have. We need to cut off this British army before they reach here. They certainly can in a matter of days if they win the Southernmost line.

So, we may send in troops from the Eastern _and_ Western, and some from here and the settlement just ahead of us. We know these paths well. We attack and travel at night, using the moonlight. Dispatch the British troops and hold them off until new recruits arrive.”

“And, no doubt, a few soldiers will have to fill the role of messenger in the meantime?”

George Washington nodded. “That is correct.”

“I suggest having a highly trained soldier for that role, sir. Whilst we need soldiers on the front line, communication is vital for this to succeed. We cannot risk them being inexperienced and dying and putting the entire task at risk.”

“I will think over this.” George re-rolled the map, and returned to his own desk. Sat beside him was an equally large pile of papers. “If you write the proposal letters for each camp, outlining the aim and purpose of the mission. I will begin to allocate roles and supplies needed. We will only have what we have; we cannot rely on outside amendments, lest they take too long to arrive. Can you have them writ by tomorrow evening, Alexander?”

It almost felt like an offence to even ask. “Of course, sir.”

“We will leave in two days, pray everything goes well.”

“Yes, sir.” Alexander muttered, still entirely engrossed in the paperwork beneath him, as he had been since he departed from his friends this morning. Whilst his face was drained of colour and his cheeks hollow, he did not think of his exhaustion as reason enough to stop. When he did stop writing, be it to speak to George or to analyse a splattered ink-stain in a kind of mired daydream, his mind travelled to a place that was ever so distracting. To a place of warmth, of rough yet gentle hands and that wonderful man, that intelligent mind, which he could indulge in. He often paused in his writings, just to think of what tonight would be like. Just to ponder over love and all of its welcome trivialities’ and, of course, its not-so welcome tribulations that would surely come with time. And yet, despite the heaviness and the weight that came with him loving John, he could not bring himself to stop.

He remembered a certain night, many moons ago was it now that it was blurred when it reached the surface of his thoughts. But he remembered it. He remembered people dancing, grinding with each other and twirling in each other’s arms. Men and woman moved in fluidity, equally aware of the other couples and yet also in their own world.

He remembered a Miss Angelica Schyler. He ravished in those intelligent eyes, that quirky and quick-witted mouth. He remembered being attracted to her, and even more so to her wonderfully beautiful younger sister, Elizabeth. He _was_ attracted to them, no doubt.

But he also remembers, more clearly, John. John Laurens, who stood off somewhere in the distance with a drink in a hand and not a woman beside him for company. He remembers, because they shared a glance; whilst Alex’s might have been one of pride, John’s was certainly one of sadness and a certain flare of anger. And Alex remembers, oh how he delights in this memory! He remembers approaching his friend, with promises to return to the ladies after; promises which were broken as soon as they were made. Because, when he spoke to John that night, when he analysed his features and connected the constellation that was his freckles, gazed in awe at this artwork of a man, he realised; he was in love.

In love with mind, intellect, soul. And irrevocably, unconditionally in love with _his_ body.

Alex was still as confused now by this realisation as he was back then. But he was oft confused, and delighted in figuring the answer to such riddles, regardless of how long that took.

“Alexander?” George said, his voice easing Alex from his deep memory. “Are you quite alright?”

“Hm?” Alexander blinked a few times, before removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes as if to remove the filter of memory. “Oh, sorry. I must have dazed out.” He looked down, taking his quill to begin writing again.

“Alex,” George said, softly. He walked over and took his quill, removing it from his hands and putting it back onto the desk. “Perhaps you should take a rest. You seem distracted, understandably. You have been writing since morn.”

He looked up at him with a confused expression. Somewhere, off in the distance was the familiar _thud thud, thud_ of a group of horses returning. “What time is it?”

George laughed. “It is noon! Dinner is being cooked at this moment. Stop. You can continue this tomorrow.”

Alexander smiled, and nodded. He returned the spectacles to his nose and collected the stack of parchment in his hands, along with the quill.

Before he left, George called out after him. “And do _rest,_ Alexander. You are not to write at all tonight, just rest. You can continue them tomorrow.”

Alexander only gave him a sheepish grin, before making an escape to his own tent. He knew he would still be writing tonight, and he knew that _Washington_ knew he would still be writing. He entered his tent, and allowed the stack of parchment to collapse onto his own desk.

He, too, collapsed onto his ‘bed’. His bed, which seemed to be made of straw and of a wooden frame which was so lanky it might well have collapsed with him. He lay there for a long while, his eyes daring him to drift into sleep but his mind refusing to switch off. He must have lay there for a good few minutes, lost in thought, before he heard the familiar voices of Laf, Herc, and his dear John outside his tent.

“Oh Alexander!” John called, sounding beautifully joyous. It made Alex’s stomach flutter. “Might we come in?”

“Of course!” Alex retorted, sitting up on his bed as the three larger men entered. They occupied so much space that Alex began to doubt whether they’d be able to leave again. “Where might the three of you have been, to make you so giddy?”

Hercules laughed, and was about to sit down on Alex’s bed before he thought better of it. “Out on horseback. We delivered the message to the Southern Eastern camp.”

“Three of our greatest soldiers have become nothing more than messengers? Oh, we are doomed.” Alexander said, a playful glint in his eyes.

“And what have you been doing?” John asked.

Alexander didn’t respond, but rather just gestured towards the pile of papers stacked atop his desk.

“You must rest!” Lafayette exclaimed.

“Dinner is almost ready. Eat and _then_ rest.” John said.


	6. I Found My Way

_You called me out from the other side_  
_You held my hand you watched me fly_  
_Oh, oh_  
  
_A Golden voice said to me_  
_try to stand, don't try to flee_  
_Oh, Oh_

 

Dinner came and went much like breakfast did- with dubious jokes, banter, and a chorus of laughter. There was, as there always is, the undertone of dread; although, this may have been amplified, given the news that many of them were to be sent to the front lines in a matter of days.

Once the day was officially over, as signified by the gradually rising moon in the night sky, the men returned to their tents.

John was watching them all from outside his tent. He hadn’t been in there all day and he didn’t plan on going in there anytime soon. Rather, he had his mind set on another location. He could briefly see Hamilton’s tent over in the distance, a dull candlelight flicker emerging from its front. Whilst he was waiting patiently, wanting to make sure that the cover of darkness would be enough to hide him should another men still be awake, he pondered. He pondered over what Alexander was wondering. No doubt, the smaller man was sitting there at his desk, probably still writing. Was he thinking of him? Longing for his warmth in the same way that John wished to have him?

John smiled to himself. After waiting for a few moments more, he crept his way, as silently as one might, towards Alexander’s tent. He was careful to use the darkness in his aid as, he noticed, some tents were still illuminated by candlelight. Luckily, the General’s tent, as close as it was to Alexander’s, was not; this reassured him. But only slightly.

He glanced over his shoulders more often than once before entering Alexander’s tent, making sure to close it immediately afterwards should anyone decide to walk by. He went to turn around, but was stopped by a pair of hands encasing his body.

John tensed at first, but forced himself to relax. He hummed in contentment and leaned into Alexander’s touch.

“I have missed you,” John murmured, careful to keep his voice low. He turned around, burying his face into the crook of Alex’s neck and placing gentle, calculated kisses there. He had thought about this all day.

“And I, you.” Alexander whispered, shivering slightly from the contact. When they parted, but remained connected through intertwined fingers, Alexander gestured towards his bed. Of course John followed, but not before noticing the half-written essay atop the desk, the quill still placed in the ink.

“Why do you write so much?” John asked, sitting down on the slightly creaky bed. Alexander leaned against him, head on his shoulder, and John was more than happy to run fingers through that silky hair.

“If I didn’t, all I would be thinking of is you.” Alex said, “You are such a distraction, John Laurens.”

John tugged a little on his hair, “I can be more of a distraction than this.”

“Oh—“ Alexander gasped, the roughness to John’s tone creating a twirling, twisting sensation in his lower abdomen. “You do wondrous things to me.”

“Mm,” John only hummed. “In my mind I do much more to you. But…” He sighed a little, but more from contentment than sadness. “We can hardly do that now.”

“Why?” Alex spluttered, a little too quickly.

This made John chuckle- a low and feverish sound which made Alex’s head run wild. “Look at where we are, dear Alexander.” He paused, something clicking into place within his thoughts. “So you also want my body?”

Alex responded by turning and cupping John’s cheek, turning his face to him so that he might devour those flush lips. He allowed his lips to move in accordance with John’s, before he decided that this wasn’t quite enough, and moved to his bare neck where he gently sucked on the skin there. He was so infatuated that he certainly _did_ forget where they were, and allowed his teeth to graze his skin.

“Ahh- Ah- Alex—“ John gasped, trying to keep his voice down as best he could.

Alexander pulled away, a devilish grin captivating his features. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes,” John said, breathing a little heavier than before. He leant back on the bed, allowing Alex to lay on top of him. Though the bed was impossibly small, their limbs still managed to become entangled and their warmth was still shared equally between them. They were content, like this. Simply being.

“Do you know who is being sent on the mission?” John asked, a little abruptly.

“I pray that it is not you,” Alex responded. He had his head nuzzled in between John’s neck and shoulder. Alex’s moist breath caused a warming sensation from somewhere within John.

“Do not pray,” John whispered. He twirled a strand of Alex’s hair between his fingers. “God will not answer us, now.”

Alexander sighed. “Then let him not. Love is love.”

“Perhaps,” John said. “I just worry. There is every possibility I will be sent away, and be gone. I will return for _you,_ no doubt, but. How long will I be there? I missed you today, so I will surely miss you then.”

“I missed you too,” Alexander said, pressing his lips against John’s neck. He grinned when he felt the pulse there increase increase. “We will meet by the lake, tomorrow? I will ensure that you have enough memory of me to keep you company.”

“You are a tease, Alexander. Making me wait,” John hummed, and moved in such a way that caused his leg to brush against Alex’s groin. He did not notice until he heard him gasp, felt the hardness lying there, and, oh, stars above! Was that a _moan?_ He never imagined such a sound from a man would wrack his brain with pleasures, but it certainly did.

“ _You_ are a tease,” Was all Alex could mutter. He felt, then, John’s arms and hand snake up beneath his blouse, both scratching and massaging his back. “John—come on, lets go out there now. _Please”_

Without giving it much thought he allowed his hips to buck down onto John, and was delightedly surprised to feel John’s groin meet him halfway.

“Ah—Alex,” John gasped, his back arching a little. “It will be wet outside, still. It won’t-“ He was pleasantly cut off from air as Alex placed his knee in an area which _really_ wasn’t helping the situation.

Alex had his classic, tom-cat, almost feral smirk about his lips. “We will become wet anyway, dear Laurens.”

By this point John was panting, and wasn’t sure whether he would be able to hold himself for much longer, anyway. “Tomorrow, tomorrow, I promise—“ He breathed, trailing his mouth and nipping at Alex’s ear.

They remained like that, for a while; small grinds and small movements, little gasps for air and moans and pleas for one another. But neither of them quite willing nor brave enough to take it further. Whilst the tightness between them grew, the sense of danger, of uncertainty and fear, also remained heavily in the air. But, there was also passion. There was also love. The sensation of their bodies, rolling and moving with each other as if in dance, was enough for them at that moment.

And perhaps that was a good thing, too; for, although they could not hear it, a pair of boots belonging to a Sir Charles Lee remained outside for a long while, his ears prying with a sort of hateful intent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a fan-service and mostly filler chapter, but I still managed to force some plot/character development in here? Eh.


	7. Do You See Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but I really loved writing this one :)

_Do you see_  
_Many times I feel like floating in the air_  
_Do I have to feel this way_

 

So preoccupied with one another were they, that neither of them heard the person calling Alexander’s name. It must have been repeated a good many times before John became tense and cursed, his face turning a ghostly white.

Alex saw his transition from bliss into fear, and was worried for a moment that he had done something wrong; stepped beyond a boundary. It wasn’t until he heard his name called that he truly realised, and his face became equally as transparent.

“He knows,” John muttered, his eyes wild and frantic. “He knows, he’s going to—Oh shit, Alex. Shit.”

“No, no, no..” Alex sprung up from the bed as if he had been caught in the act, and ran over to the desk. When his name was called again, he replied with, “ _Just a moment!”’_

No doubt his voice sounded as heated, and yet as scared, as he still felt. He grabbed a quill, and walked back over to John who seemed to be trembling lightly. He wished to remain with him, to hug him and wish him a good sleep. But that couldn’t happen. He was foolish to think that it could, here.

“John,” He whispered, more or less mouthed at fear of making too much sound. “Leave through the back. To your tent. I will see tomorrow?”

John nodded, and stood. He seemed too wracked with shock to speak. Alex grabbed some parchment and quickly scribbled down a note onto it, passing it to John with a weak smile. John creased his brows together and his fingers brushed against Alex’s, before he fled through the back.

Alex jogged over to the front of the tent and opened it. He hoped the darkness would hide any incidence of what had happened.

“Lee?” He said, trying to control his tone.

“Oh! Alexander.” Lee grinned. That was never a good sign. “Oh—um,” he glanced down, and Alex’s eyes widened. “I see you are, uh, busy?”

Alex blinked a few times. “What did you want?”

“The General instructed me thus; should Alex’s light still be on long into the night, go to him and tell him to stop writing and rest. As an order. But, I can see you were not working…”

“No.” Alex responded dryly.

There was a second of silence between them; the tenseness so thick one might have gripped it.

“Goodnight?” Lee said, and turned suddenly on his heels before heading off in the direction of his own tent.

Alex remained there for a little while longer, before closing his tent and returning to his desk.

He was _intending_ to do work, but…well, let us just say that, once again, thoughts of John distracted him and his body.

 

Laurens had only stepped a few feet from Alex’s tent when he felt something, or rather _someone,_ exit from one tent he was passing. He dared to glance down, his anxiety telling him to _run,_ until he realised: that was Hercules’ tent. As much as he feared being exposed for his actions, he was not in the least nervous or worried of his bandanna-bearing friend. He remained on the spot, secretly praying that the darkness hid his flushed features, since it seemed to silhouette his friend so effectively.

 “John?” It was a familiar voice, but not the one he had expected. Laden with an exotic French accent, it seemed dazed, hazed, like it was somewhere else. “John, it is me, Laf.”

“Laf?” He repeated, forcing his muscles to relax. Confusion, shared with the anxiety and passion of before, mercilessly overwhelmed his brain. He could feel another headache coming. “What were you--?”

“What were you doing in Alex’s tent?” Lafayette interrupted, but without any sense of suspicion or superiority. If anything, he seemed tired, and a little distant.

“Oh, I was just, uh—“ He gulped. “Stopping him from working. Making sure he was resting. You know how he writes endlessly.”

“Of course!” Lafayette exclaimed. John couldn’t quite see him, but he presumed he was grinning.

There was a beat of nothing, and then John asked, “And what were you doing in Herc’s tent?”

“The same as you,” Lafayette responded a little too quickly.

“Distracting him from…work?”

“Oui!” Lafayette said, before yawning. It was a little fake, John thought. “Say, I am tired, mon ami. I will see you tomorrow?”

“Undoubtedly,” John said.

In truth, he was happy to return to his tent. Not because it was _his_ tent, since he surely hated it, but rather so that he could take care of some… _hard_ business, as it were. So occupied were his thoughts of Alexander, of his body and his movements and his mouth, that he didn’t think twice over his ironic, and somewhat symbolic, communication with Lafayette.

It was a little while into the night before John remembered the note he had been given. He whipped it from his back pocket, unfolding it as quickly as his trembling fingers would allow. The writing was sloppier than usual, not than John really minded.

He blushed as he read:

> _You are wonderful. Sleep well, dear Laurens; they have not overcome our love yet._

 


	8. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angst, some fluff, some plot. What more could you want?

_And promise me this_ __  
You'll wait for me only  
Scared of the lonely arms  
That surface, far below these birds

 

He was out there. Out there; in the mud made of flesh, the puddles of blood and the stones, or the twigs, of bones. He was cold. He lay on his back, sinking further into the abyss; his eyes seeing nothing but the sky above.

And the irony of it all was thus; the sky was blue. It was illuminated by a bright, joyous sun, with not a cloud in sight. Is the light not aware of all that is dark? Is it not aware of the monstrosities it is bearing witness to? If even the sun, the embodiment of life and of God, could not show pity, then how might anything else, or rather _anyone_ else? The sky was a blue as it was before. It did not shed even a cloud for him.

So he sunk. He allowed the stiff hands to grip him, the harsh voices to whisper. He felt his flesh be tore from limb, muscle from bone, eye from socket.

He dropped, further and further, into hell.

The last thought he had was the name of his lover; and he tried to whisper it aloud, but his mouth had been stolen from him.

 

He woke up to a hand gripping him on the shoulder, tightly.

“Fuck!” He cried, swatting the hand away with such ferocity that it would surely bruise. He sat up in his small bed, drenched in what must be sweat, his muscles tense and aching.

A voice, as soothing and gentle like the lapping tides of the sea, was speaking to him. It was barely audible over the ringing in his ears, the thrashing and the crashing of soldier’s boots, but he thought it said his name. He only cringed, and tried to listen over the sounds of terror, but still not quite able to distinguish reality from nightmare.

And then he caught sight of something. Something which he wished never to see at such a horrific place, the bloody battle that this was. Those eyes, like pools of onyx, longing him back to a place he could call safe.

He stared at them, and watched as the world shifted from death and dismay into a certain calmness, a type of security.

He found that he was gasping for air.

Alexander smiled gently. “That’s it. Just look at me. Keep looking. Deep breaths in, and then out.” He spoke calmly. It was always a pleasure to hear him speak so softly, John thought, when others mostly only heard him ranting and debating and berating.

“A-Alex,” he choked, his chest betraying him with the amount of air it would allow, despite his deep in and exhalations.

“I am here. Laf and Hercules are outside. Are you quite…alright?”

John didn’t want to shake his head; he could feel the pressure building up within it. “No. I had another nightmare.”

“We heard you. You were shouting.”

“Oh—“ John sighed. “Shameful.”

“No shame in it,” Alexander said, sternly. John had come to notice the small creases in Alex’s forehead that appeared when he was being serious. “None at all. So many men have them.”

John didn’t like the place where he was. He hated, loathed, reviled his tent. He found it, in a term which cannot hold the magnitude or complexity of his feelings, caging. It never ceased to make him feel trapped. Even Alexander, his love, with his wondrous and magnificent eyes, could not shake this feeling of dread. This was the place where John remembered everything. This was the place where he was meant to rest, and yet it was so quiet it only allowed his thoughts to speak in greatness.

“I need fresh air,” John said. He stood up from his bed, cringing at the wetness of his shoulders and his forehead, but not caring enough to want to change. He stumbled out from the tent. It was early morning.

Hercules and Laf were there. Their eyes screamed concern and worry, and they approached him gingerly.

“John,” Hercules said, hovering, before he embraced the smaller man. This was an action rarely received from the great Hercules Mulligan, but nonetheless a hug from his friends was always a welcome one. He pulled back, and had a faint smile. “Honestly, I thought you were dying from an illness.”

Lafayette nodded vigorously, which made John cringe a little. “Oui! I thought you had been poisoned, such as from yesterday’s meal. You sounded so in pain. Alexander went in there to help whilst me and Herc called for a medic—“ He paused, and turned around to the sound of approaching footsteps. “Non! You are not needed, now, he is fine.” He said, and the boots stopped, before turning away again. Lafayette turned his attention back to his friend. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” John said. With each breath he ensured to take in the fresh air, feel the coolness of it devour him, almost. “Better now that you are all here.”

Alexander emerged from behind. “Are you well enough to eat?”

“I don’t think so.”

Lafayette spoke up, “But you _must_ eat!”

“It’s not that. I am hungry. I just…” he sighed. “There are many men there, and it is very loud. I have a headache.”

 “Then,” Laf continued, “we will bring food to you! You stay by the fire. We will return shortly.”

John smiled, giving his thanks in the most appreciative way he could manage. He really did treasure his friends.

 

After breakfast, which involved the four friends sat on logs around the fire and making softer conversation now that they did not have to speak over the boisterousness of others, General Washington asked that all the men gather together, for he had an announcement. One could use the silence to slice the air; every men held their breath as they heard, or even did not hear, their names being called. One by one they were called from the list.

It was an unspoken truth that many of these names would not return. They took it with a solemn sort of acceptance.

Hercules, Lafayette and John were all called out, although this was not necessarily unexpected. It still didn’t stop them from feeling impossibly nervous, though; it would never make them feel anything less.

Whilst John was to travel with this camps small group tomorrow early evening, Hercules was sent off to the Eastern camp and Lafayette to the Western. Both of them were to leave tonight with an informative letter in hand, and would spend the night in those respective camps. Charles Lee was to depart tomorrow, to the camp which lay only a few miles South of their own.

They would join the battle tomorrow night and, if all went well, rendezvous with General Washington on the front line.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow the real fight would begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect another chapter within a couple days! :)


	9. Like The Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternative title for this chapter was; the author chickens out/getsbored.
> 
> You'll know what I mean.

_You were the brightest shade of sun I had ever seen_   
_Your skin was gilded with the gold of the richest kings_   
_And like the dawn, you woke the world inside of me_   
_You were the brightest shade of sun when I saw you_

It was late evening when Hercules and Lafayette said their goodbyes, with the letter detailing the plan, in hand. None of them liked to think about how it could be the last goodbye.

And it was later into the night when Alexander left the camp, and headed for the lake. It looked even more beautiful now than it had done before. John wasn’t here yet and, although Alex began to wonder if he would even remember the way, he consoled himself when thinking about how smart John was. He would be here, soon.

Alex moved towards the edge of the bank, and gazed almost wistfully into the water. He stared into it for a long time, allowing his mind to come up with possible phrases to say to John when he got here. Alex was always such a helpless romantic, a poet when it came to ‘love’, and this was no different. He had become so engrossed in coming up with different scenarios, that he did not notice the face joining him in the reflection.

Until he did, and leaped backwards. “WHAT THE—“ He practically screamed.

This only made John laugh, his lips curling into a glorious smile. “Too infatuated with yourself that you cannot notice me?”

“Oh, John,” Alexander took a few deeper breaths to try and compose himself. “How dare you creep up on me! I could have fallen into the water.”

John shrugged, and plumped down beside the smaller man. “I would have stopped you if that were the case. You’re overdramatic.”

“If you must know,” Alex said, forcing a pout, “I was thinking of you.”

“And then I appeared!” John said, smiling. It made Alex’s stomach fluster whenever he saw that beautiful smile, and his mind spun whenever he heard that playfulness to his tone. “As if I manifested from your very thoughts!”

Alex hummed. “I think of you enough for that to be a possibility.”

John leaned against him, absorbing what little warmth there was. His foot draped over the edge of the bank, and the tips of his boots created gentle ripples in the water, distorting the stars above into waves.

“Hey,” Alex murmured after a while. “What are you thinking about?”

“We both know,” John sighed, gripping a little tighter onto Alex’s arm. “In my nightmare I was trying to call your name, Alexander. But it felt like I had forgotten it.” He shivered. “I don’t want to forget.”

“Shhh,” Alex shushed. He used his hand to guide John’s face towards him, and pressed a gentle, soothing kiss to those lips. “I will give you something tonight, so that you may remember me.” His voice became lower. “Memorise the way my body feels,” he said. He ushered John to lie on his back, and his mouth re-attached to his neck. He sucked there lightly, grazing his teeth on the delicate skin. This elicited a gasp, and he grinned feverishly.

“Remember my mouth, John,” he breathed. “I will remember your skin,” He said. He brought his hands up to work at John’s buttons, glancing up to those green eyes as if for conformation. John replied with a smile, and a small desperate tug on his hair, as if to say, _yes._

Alex worked on the buttons slowly, his mouth and his tongue tracing his movements as he worked downwards. “You’re so warm, John,” Alex purred when he finally removed the shirt, and discarded it somewhere off in the distance. He didn’t really care where it went right now, he was just glad to get it off.

“You are beautiful,” Alex said, tracing John’s freckled chest with a finger.

“Now you,” John said, not so much a question as it was a demand. And Alex was happy to fufill, to do anything this man so desired, but was pleasantly surprised when he found the world shift, and his back now pressed against the hard but firm earth. John was on top of him, a low growl from the back of his throat making Alexander’s skin burn with want. John mimicked Alex’s own movements, undoing each button with care. But John was a little rougher with his mouth, and his lips caressed all the places that unraveled Alex. Once the shirt was discarded, John’s hands were over his body. They were at his hair, his nipples, and then his thighs.

Alex moaned; a soft, gentle plea for _more._ John was happy to comply. As he went to undo Alex’s breeches, said man moving his hips in accordance with contact. A soft word uttered from Alexander’s, “John—don’t forget my voice?”

John responded by pushing his palm against Alexander’s tightness, to which Alexander whined. John grinned wickedly, “Never. It is engrained.”

“John,” Alex gasped when he felt the coolness on his throbbing member, his underwear soon forgotten. He shivered, and it was a good thing John knew the difference between a shiver of lust and one of coldness, because—

“Oh, oh—John—“ Alex hummed, his hips lifting slightly in accordance with the warm, moist pleasure he  was now receiving. He dared to look down, even if just for a second. The sight of John’s lips, pink and plush and so perfect, sliding up and down his length made him moan with pleasure.

And Alexander was tempted to let this continue. To continue until that familiar sensation of muscles clenching, until his vision became white with pleasure; but, he had a plan. And when Alex had a plan, he would make sure it succeeded. “Wait,” he said gently, and was surprised at the speed at which John removed himself. He could have cried at the sudden coldness surrounding him, and he could have wept at the look of confusion, worry and sadness now plastered across John’s features. “No, no, John. I just—“

“What do you want, Alexander?” John said in a small voice.

“ _You,”_ Alexander said, bucking his hips to try and gain friction. “But, but, I want _you,_ to…”

“To?”

“Take me.”

Immediately after these words had been uttered from his lips, they were devoured. And that would have been enough, really. To have John simply look at him had always been enough, but now he _had_ him- he had his lips, his hands, his body. His half-naked body, and— _oh._

“Fuck John, _yes,”_ Alexander hissed as he felt a finger circle and then abruptly enter him, twirling and prodding with a kind of accuracy that it made the question _how_ swim around in Alex’s mind.

It is no news to mention that Alexander had had sex, _a lot._ He was, after all, the renowned tom cat. But nothing had ever felt like this; never as new or exciting as this.

“Does that feel good, Alexander?” John said, every word dripping with want and lust. He pushed another finger in, revelling at the moan he received, and began to scissor and stretch.

“S’good,” Alexander moaned, instinctively shifting his hips with every small touch. It took John a while to open Alex up sufficiently, for he did not want to hurt his love; he wanted him to feel safe and needed and loved. After the third finger, and after Alex had begged and called his name so often his throat may have become dry, John _finally_ entered him.

It was the most euphoric feeling either of them had experienced.

 

When it was over, and when the panted breaths of passion had subsided enough for them to talk, they embraced one another. It was a silent congratulations, a whispered compliment. They spent much of their time exploring each other’s bodies; not in a wholly sexual way, but rather in an inquisitive way. They would ask about scars, the story behind a bruise or their own thoughts on their own body. And whenever the answer had been self-berating or conscious,  such as when Alex expressed his discomfort towards a scar below his elbow, the other would caress it. They would love it with soft words and gentle kisses, loving it until the other only associated it with this memory, and a blush.

John went to sleep that night not with thoughts of war or of bloodshed. He slept peacefully, with dreams of Alex’s warmth, of his mouth and his voice and how he moaned John’s name whenever he found the right spot. He would not forget such sensualities for a long time, he knew; not tonight, nor tomorrow in the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An attempt at smut™ has been attempted
> 
> Kudos/comments are appreciated, I was a little nervous about posting/writing this but felt as if it was necessary.


	10. Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which history is changing, Charles Lee is still a dick™, and our boys must be brave<3

_Shadows settle on the place, that you left._ _  
Our minds are troubled by the emptiness._

 

“Hey, Alex. Laurens.”

It was early morning. The two men were sat beside one another at the breakfast table. Despite the bustling crowd surrounding them, they still felt oddly exposed and alone without their other two counterparts.

Approaching them with a smirk was none other than…Charles Lee?

“Aren’t you supposed to be delivering _my_ note to the Southern camp?” Alexander said as he approached, not greeting him with so much as a glance.

“I _was,”_ Charles said, and sat down opposite the two men. “Buuut, Washington asked me to stay and gave the letter to Aaron Burr, instead.”

They both grunted in response, giving more focus to their food than the weasel sitting in front of them.

“I think it’s because he’s going to promote me to General.”

That had really done it for the two men, who burst out into bouts of laughter simultaneously. Alexander actually had to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye, which had become creased from the grin painted across his lips.

“You humor me!” Alexander wheezed. “Why on Earth would be promote _you_ to General? He didn’t even entrust you with a letter!”

Lee frowned. “I doubt that is the reason, _Alexander.”_

He rolled his eyes, “We shall see, then.”

Lee caught sight of some other soldiers to pester, and was just about to take his leave when he paused. “Oh, and I couldn’t help but notice that last night you were both absent from your tents for quite some time?”

John was about to stand up, to ball his fists and expand his chest. Alex knew this, and so he spoke up before John could. “There would have been many empty tents, Lee. I find it odd and concerning that you would focus on us two?”

John was glaring. “Besides,” he spat, “it’s none of your business what I do.”

“Tch,” Lee grabbed his plate. “I do hope your legs feel better Alex.”

“Legs?” Alexander said, before John, who could see the trap he was walking himself to, could stop him.

“Yeah,” Lee nodded, and went to walk away. “You seem to be walking stiffly?”

Alexander looked down, his face blushing a deep red. John was muttering a list of profanities under his breath, and was also red. His face soon faded to pink, though, when he saw that beautiful blush upon Alex’s cheeks.

He chuckled. “Should I apologise?”

Alex shook his head, smiling. “N-No, I just, uh, I haven’t…” He sighed, looking around at all of the people surrounding them. “May we have this conversation somewhere more private? My tent?”

“Of course!” John smiled, finishing his breakfast in record time

Charles Lee did not miss them leaving, together.

 

 

When they entered his tent, Alexander mad a bee-line for his desk. A considerable mountain of papers were already stacked upon it, but he seemed eager to add to this as he found a quill and began to write something down.

John crept in, tentatively. He said in a quiet voice, “What are you writing?”

“I need to write a request for more supplies. I need it done by the evening.”

John nodded, opting to sit atop of Alexander’s unstable bed. His mind became awash with memories, so his cheeks became a flush pink. He sighed lovingly. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Alexander,” He said, “You are not in pain?”

To his surprise, Alex barked a laugh. “No, dear Laurens! Not at all. I’ve not, uh…” but alas, he found that his mouth had lost the words again. Instead, they were translated into a lowering of the shoulders, and a certain tenseness as he tried to make himself smaller.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Laurens pressed, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he had guessed the answer.

Alexander drew a deep breath. He spoke quietly; “Last night was my, uh…” he gulped. The air seemed too tight and the tent too warm. “First…time?”

John’s jaw became slack. “Ever?”

“What?” Alexander looked up at him. “Oh! No! I am the renowned _tom-cat,_ Laurens,” his eyebrows wiggled somewhat. “Just with a member of the same sex.”

“Oh,” John breathed. He had guessed this; it wasn’t that Alexander seemed inexperienced or confused the night before. In fact, he seemed bounded by confidence and surety, something which John thought was incredibly endearing. But alas, they existed in such a time where the occurrence was a rarity. A rarity because trouble and pain and, ultimately, humiliation and death, followed.

But, was not a short life of unhindered love, passion and commitment better than a long life of restraint, of lies, of internal conflict?

“I liked it, though,” Alexander said after a while, to try and fill the looming stillness.

John nodded. “As did I!”

Alexander wrote a few more words down, before his mind had bothered him with more curiosities, and he looked back up to John. “You seemed rather adept at the act.”

John tried not to laugh at Alex’s abruptness. “I ought to take that as the highest compliment, coming from you”

“What must you mean by that?”

John smirked. “You get around, Alexander.”

Said man theatrically placed a hand over his chest, pulling a mock-pout. “Oh, how you _wound_ me”

They both laughed; a moment shared between them with ease.

“Honestly, though,” Alexander leaned in, as if to close the space between him and John. He spoke in a slightly hushed tone. “Have you…?”

Laurens’ tone was laden with playfulness. “Have I _what?_ ”

Alexander huffed. “You know what I am implying!”

“Only once,” He said, eventually. “I do not think about if oft.”

Alexander pulled back, taking the quill between his delicate fingers and twirling it absentmindedly. John watched them, focused on how each of them moved with a certain type of precision; he thought of _their_ movements, of _Alexander’s_ warmth, lest his mind waver into unwelcome territory.

“Are they unhappy memories?” Alexander asked. His voice sounded so small, so gentle. John only nodded a response, the slightest crease of his brows indicating his discomfort.

“Then,” Alexander leaned back into his chair, and continued writing. “We will not speak of it. Not until you are ready.”

Something like a flutter came into John’s chest. “Thank you.”

They remained like that for the rest of early morning, simply enjoying one another’s presence. There was no pressure to move or to make unneeded conversation. _Being_ was enough for them; they both knew that soon they would _be_ without each other for a while. _But only physically,_ John would convince himself, and _only for a short while,_ Alexander would say.

It had just turned noon when an announcement was made. General Washington called a gathering of men together, including Charles Lee, who stood there with a smug grin plastered across his face. Needless to say, this soon dissipated as the name _Alexander Hamilton_ was read aloud, followed by an enthusiastic John cheering and a not-so enthusiastic Lee listing off profanities.

“You’re a general!” John chimed after the crowd had quietened, “Woo!”

Alexander grinned, practically bathing in John’s praise. There might have been more time to celebrate if not for the pressing plan about to go ahead, and so Alex was soon hailed by Washington. As he went to leave for the General’s tent, he was stopped by a hesitant touch to his elbow.

“Alex,” John almost whispered. “I will be leaving in only a few hours. Will I see you?”

Alex’s eyes dropped to the floor. His heart soon followed. “I will try. If I do not, I will see you on the field. Stay _safe.”_

“Alex,” John said again. His words barely reached his lips. “I want to…”

“We can’t,” Alexander finished, but pulled him into a heartful hug, and squeezed. “We can only do this.”

He pulled back, and for a moment, they were longing in each other’s eyes. An unspoken sort of love was this; an untouched kiss. A farewell.

“Farewell,” John said.

“It isn’t.” said Alexander

And Alex left to the tent, and John to polish his musket.

 


	11. Meet Me In The Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this chapter really difficult to write for some reason? Graphic descriptions of war, dead bodies, blood, etc.

_How long, baby, have I been away?_

_Oh, it feels like ages though you say it's only days._

_There ain't language for the things I've seen._

_And the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams._

_Oh, the darkness got a hold on me._

 

 

They walked in silence. Each footstep carefully calculated and each movement perfectly practised. One step, two steps…into the night. Avoid the delicate layer of frost, lest it make you known with its _crunch._

They walked in a single file; each after the other, they appeared monotonous. They were huddled close together; as they breathed, small ghosts followed.

Their guide was the moon which lay ahead, its light deceivingly gentle. Their muskets were low and their eyes downcast; they couldn’t risk the reflection of light.

Below this light, on the horizon, was hell. Occasionally bursts of fire would seep from its surface, lighting up the world around them with reds and browns and oranges. The trees rustled with each _boom._ There was no birdsong, no melody. Just the blood-curdling _bang!_ And, if one risked to listen, a cry, a scream.

If one glanced to the right, and squinted, they may catch a glimpse of shadows creeping in the distance. Hushed voices would tell you, _‘that’s Laf’s group’._ Somewhere to the left of them was Hercules’ group; but they were hidden by the cover of trees. They would meet them shortly.

“How far are we?” Someone whispered, somewhere. Time and distance seemed non-existent here. Had they been walking an hour, or ten? It was difficult to tell, but the exhaustion in their legs indicated the latter. There was another bout of gun fire ahead, another canon fire.

“Not too far,” John said. He recognised a tree stump here, and a rock there—both meticulously arranged to form a sort of sign, an indication.

Up front, there were people telling them to hush.

And then, to get down.

_Down!_

Someone whispered, _‘draw your weapons’._

There was a beat of silence. They held their breath. John was as silent as ever, eyes front, _watching. Waiting._

He couldn’t see anything or anyone.

And then, a voice—not quite whispered but not brave enough to shout, either.

“It’s us, Southern Camp.” Was that-- Burr? The familiar accent suggested so.

“Oh,-- _good_ ,” John breathed.

There were exchanges of words, of orders. John didn’t care to hear what was said, but he heard Lee groan from somewhere in the crowd. This made him smile, at least.

And then, the expanded group was moving again. Creeping through the dark grass, becoming damp with dew. Closer and closer, ever closer, to the monstrosity that lay ahead.

_‘That’s Herc’s group, I see ‘em,’_ John head someone whisper. And that was it, then.

They were ordered to move. To really move. To go into a light jog, to get ready. Some young soldier asked, _‘get ready for what?’_

John didn’t have the heart to tell him, _‘to die’._

He trusted that the whispered prayers which grew in intensity as they got closer, closer, ever closer, was a good indication of _what._ Each footstep seemed louder, heavier. As he got closer, felt the warmth of the battle touch his face, he felt the earth pulling him. He felt everything telling him to _stop, stop, turn back._ But he couldn’t.

Not when he heard someone shout, _“DRAW WEAPONS!”,_ followed by a far-off French screech and a wail from his friends.

He landed in a ditch, knees to his chest, musket beside him.

There were men crying, shouting, begging, praying, screaming, begging, shouting. They didn’t say anything in particular, didn’t seem to care that they had spent years of their life learning a language; their voices were animalistic.

A voice was telling him to get up, to fight, to _shoot, to fight, kill, kill, fight._ And so he did. He grabbed his musket, he peeked over the edge of the trench. He made sure to aim at a _red coat_ and not a _red stain,_ because there was much more of the latter. And his index finger curled around the trigger and pulled and _bang!_ A young soldier fell.

_Reload, reload, reload…._

And there was another, he saw, and he aimed and _boom!_ They fell to their knees. He could see he was gaining attention, feel the barrels of a gun pointed at him, and so he sprinted for more appropriate cover. He launched behind a wall of sandbags. He saw another young soldier beside him, and he nodded at him. The young soldier attempted a wavering smile, and peered over the edge of the cover

_Boom, bang!_

There was a crackling sound, of bones breaking and a skull exploding, and the young soldier fell to the ground.

Laurens felt the warm blood splatter across his cheek.

He found a small gap in the sandbags, peered through it. He saw a redcoat out there, somewhere, and lifted his musket above his head and made a rough aim. He shot. He hit; he saw the man recoil with pain and fall to the ground, into the mud; become one with the dead, dead earth.

John, too, was sat on that cold, cold earth. It was not hard; it was thick and wet and mushy like quicksand. He had to move, quickly, lest he sink into and become one with it. He kept low, kept his back bent and body tight. Sprinted towards a depression and collapsed into the earth.

He landed into a series of mildly warm limbs. He looked down, and saw a cold, pale, ghostly face staring back at him.

John might have screamed.

He couldn’t hear anything.

There was a harsh _swoosh_ and an ear-crackling _BOOM!_ And then someone was shaking him, shaking him, yelling in his ear.

It was at moments like this that John Laurens expected to wake up. He expected to see Alexander’s eyes, calming pools of granite that they were, and be _home._

But he was not home.

Who was it that was shaking him? Giving him mild orders, gripping him scarcely.

“ _Move,_ John!”

Ah, there it was; that thick French accent laden in every word.

“John!” Lafayette pleaded again.

“Shit,” John whispered, tearing his attention from the dead and to his friend. “Shit. Shit--- Oh, oh—Shit—“

“Down, John!” Lafayette gripped John’s hair and yanked his head down, below the dark, cold, dead Earth. He felt the Frenchman place his musket above the ground, and press the trigger and _bang!_

“We have got to go,” Lafayette shouted. “Got to go. They’re getting canons close, move, _move!”_

At the mention of _canons_ John was on his feet, running, though he were not quite sure where. Just _away_ was enough. And Lafayette was there, too. He was firing and re-loading his weapon as they ran. And there were vibrations in the earth, and the sky was alight with fire. And John could feel hundreds of bodies fall; their screams as they tried to escape their inevitable deaths.

And he saw the glint of silver, of rusted metal lilted with bronze. He caught a glimpse of the eruption from its crevice, and saw, slowly, the boulder come closer, closer, _closer…._

_CABOOM!_

The world had turned upside town. He found himself in the air for at least a second, before falling, _crash-bang_ into some bodies. Bodies and limbs and bone and blood emerged from the pits.

There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears, and the wind was scratching at his face. He couldn’t even see the stars; the smoke was too thick, too grey. Amongst the muffled gunshots and the far-off screams, he heard someone mutter _‘….Washington!’,_ and there was the _thud, thud_ of hooves. He felt a faster set of ambiences in the earth. He remembered a hand seizing his shoulder, and he remembers the sensation of being dragged. Of being dragged over limbs and bone and discarded tissue.

And then everything tuned to black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Cliffhangers? Pffft, no...
> 
> Comments/kudos/(constructive) criticism appreciated<3


	12. Know Me Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback; the roots of a love in hiding.

_And when i think upon my past I see_ _  
I loved you many years before you came_

 

 

_Helpless, helpless…_

John remembers that night; he might even remember it for the rest of his days. He can clearly recall standing alone beside a wooden bar, the scent of alcohol thick and the beats of music entrancing. He was alone; both physically and mentally. He was alone in thought; he wondered why he hated this loneliness, and yet was not willing to dance with a lady. Was not that the aim of tonight? To find and court and maybe, if he were lucky, love somebody?

His distant gaze scanned the ballroom. Bodies moved in accordance with one another, all of them connected together in dance. And yet John felt, as he oft felt nowadays, _dis_ connected. Tethered away from society by the seams; society, that was a patchwork of people, memories and connections; society, that had a part of it missing when it decided _John Laurens_ did not fit in with the norms.

This was as saddening to the young man as it was maddening. When he watched the dancers, their grinning lips and discussions bountiful with joy, his grief became shared with a type of frustration. How dare they feel so attracted to one another without a care for the watching world; how dare the watching world not even judge them. It would surely judge John Laurens.

But when John’s glare met that of Alexander Hamilton’s, he could not supress a smile, try as he might. It was almost automatic; in the same way that flowers react to their sun by blooming, so John reacted to this man with a grin, a unique type of happiness. 

Then Alex muttered something to the two young women, and left them. And he approached…. _John._

 _Oh,_ John thought, and his heart gave a great _thump_ and jumped a beat.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but the world seemed to take a different turn. Something was telling him, like a gentle whisper, _this is a monumental moment._ When Alex walked away from the Schuyler sisters that night, and turned to John, it was as if the stars had re-written themselves. It was as if the Universe sought a change, a certain deliberation that ended with _no, this is what happens, this time._

Alex approached him with a grin, “Hello!”

“Hi there, Alexander.” John smiled, raising a glass to him. He gestured to the seat by his side, and was delightedly surprised when Alexander took up the offer. He mumbled something to the bartender, before turning back to John.

“So…” Alex hummed, “You are not dancing with anyone? There are plenty of single women here.”

John smiled and shook his head. “Not one for me, unfortunately.”

“No?” Alexander said. The bartender arrived with a drink, and Alex _clinked!_ His glass with John’s before taking a sip. “Well, I’ve seen a fair few approach _you_ tonight, John.”

“Oh, and you are not guilty yourself?” John teased, nudging his friend. He nodded towards the Schyluer sisters, who were now talking to a slightly tense-looking Lafayette and Hercules. “I saw you conversing with them. They seemed _very_ interested.”

“And you seemed _very_ lonely, my dear Laurens!” Alexander said. “So, here I am.”

“Lonely?” John echoed. “A little, perhaps.” His mind ran through a list of possibilities. “It may be the clothing I wear; my father made it for me.” He looked down at himself. He scanned over the grey-blue blazer and frowned. “Maybe it attracts all the _wrong_ women.”

This made Alexander laugh; it was a hearty laugh, one which phased out all the music in the room. “Oh! I’m sure that isn’t it,” he chuckled. “In fact, I’d say it suits you. Makes your eyes shine.”

John blushed, and turned away. He hid his face behind the glass. “Thank you? So might yours.”

And really, what more could he say? Each and everytime he looked at Alexander that night, he would blush because, honestly, how could one not notice the smooth jawline? The way the blue uniform highlighted the lighter tones of his hair, or the more hazel flecks belonging to his eyes? How could one not sigh in admiration, at the way the man held himself? Alexander may be small in stature, but he was big in presence, and he knew it. Confidence oozed from him; but it wasn’t unattractive-- at least, not to John.

And that is why John couldn’t say anything more. Because it _was_ attractive even when it _shouldn’t_ be, because it was ‘ _wrong’._

But something about the way Alexander grinned, and blushed a glorious crimson, told John that he understood. And that was enough, honestly.

 


	13. Alone Made Of Ice

_My body is made of boiling water_

_That keeps me from starting storms_

_These mountains are covered in a powder_

_That keeps me from feeling warm_

 

His face was pale.

The grey bedsheets, yellowing with age, tinted his features sickly.

The dots that littered his skin seemed ever more present; they were no longer a constellation of stars, but of dirt. If you dared trace one with your finger, you would eventually, inevitably, come across a bruise, a cut, a scab.

And yet beneath those pearly lids, Alex knew that John’s eyes were still as bright.

“How long will he be resting?” Alexander asked as the doctor passed. It wasn’t the first time he had, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Mr.Hamilton, I have said this before. The answer hasn’t changed. We do not know. Rest is good for Mr.Laurens. He will wake when his body is ready.”

Alexander nodded. He had grown tired of nodding, recently. And also, not tired of _talking_ so much as he was tired of trying _not_ to; because he knew that, if he did, he would say something that he may later regret.

Although John’s body was bound to the bed, Alex’s mouth was bound by invisible clamps that his mind had constructed.

He was sat on a chair which was made solely of wood; any other man may have found it uncomfortable, but Alexander was too numb to feel. He sat there, feeling impossibly alone, with back hunched and fingers laced together. He had been in this position for so long that he may as well have been a statue; he was blended into the hospital scenery so well, so that he may as well have not have been there. He _was_ impossibly alone.

Alex was here, without his tongue and without his pen and paper, without his movement and, most of all, without his love. He was not, however, without his mind; that remained a constant. And so, he decided to escape to his mind for a while; to the world of dreams, so that he may overcome the drudgery of time. Alex was never very good at waiting. Maybe, if he was lucky, John would be there when he woke.

 

* * *

 

 

Alex didn’t dream.

As soon as he drifted off into sleep it felt as if he was abruptly awoken again. He didn’t know how much time had passed, or indeed if any actually had.

But he didn’t care all that much. Not really. Even before he had opened his eyes, Alex felt some fixated onto him. In any other circumstance, perhaps this would have made him feel uncomfortable; but not here, and not now. Because when he carefully unlidded his own eyes, he was met with that wondrous golden hue.

John’s eyes were encaptivating. Alex could probably write whole essays on just them if he dared (and he would, too). They lit up his entire face, emphasising every feature with clarity; they were like a beacon, a burning ember that was as warm as it was graceful.

John’s smile was weak, probably from fatigue, but it was there. Alex’s chest burned with passion, and the grin plastering his lips could not be supressed.

“Hello,” Alex said.

“Hello,” John replied, albeit his voice weak and crackling somewhat. John went to sit up, but was stopped by Alex’s hand gentle on his shoulder. So instead, John looked around himself, wincing at the strained sensation in his neck. He analysed the white curtains, yellowing bed sheets, and putrid smell for a long while. When he spoke next, it was a mere utterance. “What happened?”

“I was not there for all of it,” Alex began, his movements becoming slightly mechanic as he struggled to supress his urges; he so desperately wanted to hold the man he loved, to hug and caress and soothe him. But he knew he couldn’t. Not now whilst he was hurting, and even after, not in public.

He sighed lightly, before realising that John was looking at him expectantly. “When I arrived with the General, there was a bout of canon fire. An abundance of men flew into the air. You were one of them.”

“Oh,” John murmured. “What are my injuries?”

Alex shook his head. “Just flesh wounds and bruised skin, mostly from the debris.”

John flinched slightly at the onslaught of the memory. “Oh--! W-What about Lafayette? Did we win? Where, where am—oh—“

“Shh, John,” Alex cooed. He glanced around his shoulder, and noted that most of the doctors and nurses were absent; many of the patients were too sick or too dead. He dared just to place a hand on John’s cheek, soothing there with his thumb. He whispered the next part, “You’re safe, my love.”

“But—“

“Shh.” Upon the appearance of a doctor walking through the tent, Alexander moved his touch to John’s shoulder. He did not want to suggest anything; nothing at all. “John, listen to me. We’re back at Southern camp. Lafayette is safe; he continued to fight and is unscathed.” Alexander smiled when John started to untense. “We won, yes. We fought back the British troops until their white flag was out.”

“Good,” John said, plainly. He settled a little further back. “When do they want this bed vacant?”

“By tonight.”

“How long until then?”

“Not too long, it is sunset now. Perhaps two hours. Since your injuries are not fatally dangerous, the doctors need more beds.”

John nodded. “I understand…”

“John,” Alex said, softly this time. “What is it that troubles you? Lafayette said that you had become…distant, on the field. Is your mind well?”

John gave Alex a look that one could only associate with confusion, and perhaps a little disgust. He pushed himself back and forced his aching body into an upright position, despite Alex’s insistence that he not.

Alex did not like to see such a beautiful face frown at him, not like that.

“Alex,” John started. His voice seemed a little strained; Alexander did not know whether this was due to the tightness of his neck, which held a purple discolouration, or the apparent ailment that stormed over him. “Of course it is _not_ well. I have nightmares so often I fear sleep. I am in the field and I am sick of watching people get blasted apart.”

Alex went to open his mouth, but John continued. “I understand these are the consequences of what I decided to do. But do not lie to me and say that you are not plagued, too. How can any man be _well”_

There was a silence that loomed over them, then; Alex waited, not wanting to interrupt John lest he have anything more to say. Alex was never very good at waiting; but he would try, for his John.

When the silence settled into unease, Alex whispered. “I’m sorry, John.” He tilted his chin downwards. “I’m sorry for making you feel isolated; indeed, no man is well after they have been through this. My mind hurts, too. I’m sorry.”

John tried to move his hand towards him, but pain shot up through his arm and shoulder and he winced. Alexander instead reached down, and tentatively traced a shape into the palm of John’s hand; a gentle reminder.

“I promise, Alex, that I will not die out there, if that is what worries you. I’ll come back to you.”

“I know you will. I just always fear how much of you will remain.”

This actually made John laugh. “I promise that you’ll still have all the parts of me you love,” and he even had the audacity to wink

“Hush!” Alex warned, but was grinning himself.

After a moment of laughter, John’s voice quietened. “In truth, Alexander, I do not want to leave this bed.”

“Oh? But it is uncomfortable and unclean, and those _‘parts I love’,_ won’t be of much use in here! You do not wish to return to your own bed, to your te—“ But Alexander had to stop, because his dear Laurens looked, oh, so sad, and everything suddenly made sense. Alexander felt overcome with guilt.

He stood up a little too fiercely, with promises to return shortly. John nodded, and smiled; smiled, because he loved Alex despite his flaws. Loved him despite his mouth that formed direct connections with his thoughts. Alex knew he was undeserving of him, but he could not stop himself from loving him.

After several minutes, Alex returned with a smug grin plastered across his face. John could _feel_ the pride beaming from him as he sat down.

“What did you do?” John asked when he realised that Alex was waiting.

“Now that, my dear Laurens, is a surprise. You shall see, soon.”

John found out approximately two hours and thirteen-minutes later, when he reluctantly stumbled his way from the medical tent and approached his own. It was a long walk that pulled at his strained muscles, so Alex offered to help. John, being John, refused, but after much persistence he settled on _‘yes, you may walk beside me’,_ because he knew Alex would have trailed after him, anyway.

He rounded the corner to his tent, ready to receive a mouthful of dread at the sight of its abysmal jade curtains.

Only, he didn’t.

He rounded the corner, and his tent was…

“My tent! It’s gone?!” John yelled, not surprised nor phased when he received multiple angry and sleepy shouts ordering him to lower his volume.

 “It is!” Alex chimed.

Alex only beamed, whilst John gaped.

“But- but—“ John stammered, approaching the area where his tent _should_ have been, where the grass was flattened. “Alex,” John said through gritted teeth. “When I said I do not _like_ my tent, I do not mean I want to be sleeping on the _ground_ ”

“Come with me, quickly.”

“Alex,” John sighed. Currently he both loved and berated this wonderful man. “I am _tired._ I want to sleep and yet my tent is _gone_.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I know.” Alex hummed, and in the cover of darkness gripped John’s hand. “It’s not far, I promise this will be worthy.”

“You moved my tent?” John inquired, but Alex only smiled in response. He led them down a familiar path, diagonally from where John’s tent _should_ have been, past the fire bit and towards a warm candlelight in the distance. Was that…

“Your tent?” John said, both a little cautious and concerned. “Alex, Washington is next door. What if people—“

“I’m not that naïve, John, as much as I would love you constantly in my bed.” Alex positively purred. John rolled his eyes, because, honestly, he may have no tent and no place to sleep, but Alex wasn’t going to leave him.

“Then what?” John asked again, this time yawning. His legs felt like lead and every fibre of his body burned with exhaustion.

It wasn’t until John got closer to the larger tents that, beside Alex’s, he could just about make out the outline of a smaller, lesser tent.

Before John could open his mouth, Alex spurted: “I asked Washington. I said you were suffering, both physically and mentally, and to leave you alone could affect your ability in the field, and health in general. I suggested that your tent be moved closer to mine. I doubted it working, but somehow, it did.” Alex looked across to him. “Does this…help? If even only slightly?”

John didn’t respond. Instead, he approached Alex’s tent and undid the curtain, gesturing for Alex to follow him inside.

And as soon as Alex was inside, as soon as those curtains were closed, John’s lips were pressed against his. It was a slow, sensual kiss; a loving, savouring one. One that screamed without words, _thank you._ John’s hands snaked their way around Alex’s body, and found their home on his neck.

“Thank you,” John whispered. “It helps. So much. Thank you.”

“I am glad.” Alex murmured, content with losing himself in the lips of the man he loved.

After a while of contended silence, of nothing but whispered promises and utterances of love, Alex, ever the chatterer, said: “John?”

“Mm?” John replied, wanting to re-attach his body to Alex’s. Pouting when Alex shook his head with a soft smile “What is it? Something wrong?”

“Oh! Quite the opposite, actually—I just wanted to thank _you._ ” His voice became hushed, “For staying alive. For—just, being alive.”

“I had you to come back to,” John responded, wanting to sound as poetic as Alex sometimes did, but he thought he sounded a little brash. He took Alex’s hand and moved over towards the bed, his heart fluttering when Alex not only did the same, but also leaned his head against his shoulder.

“No, John,” Alex sighed. “I mean, when you woke, I should have greeted you with thanks and love and adoration. It does not do you justice, and it isn’t enough—“

“Alex,” John tried. He wasn’t surprised when Alex continued,

“It isn’t. Loving you isn’t difficult, but knowing that you love me is _hard_ and I believe it, I do, but I fear that one day my anxieties may tell me—“

“Stop it, Alex.” John said a little louder this time, and when Alex’s mouth went to continue, he soothed Alex’s jaw with his palm, turned his face to him. John stared, _longed,_ into those eyes lilted with golden flecks. “Alex,” He said, softer. “My love, please. You know that you couldn’t have done even _half_ the things you’re thinking of, right there and in front of everyone. Also, I asked a lot of questions. And then we had to vacate quickly.”

John intertwined his fingers with Alexander’s. “Waking up and having you there, beside me, was enough. Always will be.”

“Even when I am old and weak, and in need of near constant assistance? Even then?”

There was a voice that existed in the small space between them, then, that uttered in a dark voice, _‘You will not even live to then’._ It was like a nagging in the back of their thoughts. And whilst both Alex and John hated to, they agreed with it.

And whilst they both heard it, they wouldn’t admit to it.

So, John replied, “Even then.”

And Alex had to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, kudos and comments make my day and really encourage me. Constructive criticism is also appreciated!
> 
> Feel free to come and say hi on my tumblr @small-stars


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